


Simulacrum

by anotherFMAfan



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/pseuds/anotherFMAfan
Summary: Mustang goes to Ed's house one night on a work errand, and happens upon a scene he never could have expected....RoyXEd, 2003 anime AU. Explicit rating mostly for language. Originally posted summer 2009.





	

Mustang stifled a yawn as he pulled the black military car down the street toward his subordinate’s house. It was late—far too late to be out on business, but the papers lying the seat beside him were urgent, and had to be filed by morning or Hawkeye wouldn’t be the only one after his head. As he neared the house, he was pleased to see that the lights were on. At least he wouldn’t have to wake Fullmetal up. He didn’t think encountering the ball of destruction when he was even crankier than usual was something he was up to at the moment, though watching him explode over a well-placed comment would certainly do wonders for his mood.

Putting thoughts of antagonism out of his head for the moment, Mustang parked on the street, grabbed the papers, and locked the car (could never be too careful) before heading up the nearly overgrown walk to the front door. He could hear music coming from the house, and was faintly surprised; he had never imagined Edward as a great lover of arts he didn’t view as useful to him, such as Alchemy. He knocked.

It was a nice night, but the tired colonel was in no condition to notice. He sighed in irritation when the door didn’t open, and knocked again, louder. If the kid had his head in a book, he really was doomed. He could pound and shout himself blue and he wouldn’t hear a thing. After knocking a third time with no response, the colonel’s eyes strayed to the large window on the front of the house, a line of overgrown shrubs in various states of death beneath it. Of course, the lawn never would have looked like that if Alphonse had still lived in the house, but it had been months since he’d gotten his own place with his girlfriend.

“Do you see what you’ve reduced me to?” Mustang grumbled under his breath, wading through the grass to make his way to the windowsill. He took a quick glance around, but fortunately no one was around at that hour to witness him peeking in somebody’s window.

Leaning forward, he tried to find a space that wasn’t covered by the curtains, and eventually did, peering through to see the front room beyond. There was only one light, casting long shadows around the room. It seemed as though it had been a relatively normal living room at one point, but now the majority of it was filled with a massive row of black slate tables, which were practically obscured for all of the alchemic equipment atop them. Aside from these, the only piece of furniture left was a black leather chair, but it was not designed for leisure—actually, it bore an uncanny resemblance to his own chair at the office. Someone in a blue military uniform was sitting in it, but his view was obscured by Fullmetal, who was standing in front of the chair in his typical black clothing.

Mustang was about to knock on the glass when he paused, and pressed his face closer to the glass to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. But no, he really was— _swaying_ in time with the music. Fullmetal was _dancing?_ And not being shy about it, either, from the looks of things-- Roy’s eyes widened in shock as he watched the blond climb into the officer’s lap. As he continued to move, he seemed to be pouring the contents of a lab tube over the person’s head. What the hell was going on? Was this his lover?

“If it’s a girl from our department I’m going to skin you alive,” he hissed, though even to himself he sounded more shocked than angry. Although the colonel himself was no one to talk about fraternization, Fullmetal could find himself in a world of trouble if his superiors got wind of his hanky-panky.

Soon enough he stood back up, and Roy’s mouth fell open in surprise and confusion at who he saw—or _what_ , rather—sitting in the chair. It wasn’t a person at all, but a white statue of a man, which was wearing a real uniform. Fullmetal clapped his hands and held them to the figure’s head, and the black substance he had poured on crawled over the white surface until it fit the pattern of the sculpted hair. Then he turned the chair to face the table, showing Roy the statue’s profile, which he thought looked vaguely familiar.

Edward himself stepped back to the lab table and put the vial carefully where it belonged, picking up instead a glass stirring stick, which he used to stir the rest of the black substance, which was heating on a burner. Mustang watched as he turned back to face the chair, and continued to swing his hips suggestively as he walked toward its occupant. His face was flushed and looked sweaty, perhaps from the heat coming off the lab table, and he kept his eyes on the thing in the chair as he slowly and seductively eased his black jacket off his muscular arms.

What the fuck was going on? Mustang swallowed in his dry throat and glanced around him again to make sure no one was going to catch him watching—something he definitely shouldn’t be watching, especially because Fullmetal had pulled off his black tank in the same fashion, revealing his strong, well-tanned chest and abs…and he looked about ready to make out with the statue, which, while a rather arousing idea, was really very strange.

Edward leaned over the figure, his legs spread in a wide, dominant stance on either side of its knees, and fingered its stiff blue collar as he whispered the lyrics of whatever the hell song was playing, his lips moving centimeters from the still curve of its own stone lips. Right when Mustang was sure he was going to press his lips to it, he leaned back up and swaggered his way back to the burner, using a cloth to remove the stirring stick from the beaker. With one hand, he reached up and pulled the tie out of his ponytail, releasing his long golden hair over his shoulders, slightly kinked where the tie had held it, but beautiful nonetheless. Mustang tried to recall a time he had ever seen it down, but couldn’t. And as it should be, he thought guiltily, since he usually only saw him at the office and didn't generally spy on him in his living room.

Returning once more to the chair, Edward looked the model in the face carefully and tapped each eye with the end of the stirrer, leaving a single black drop on the surface of each. With a clap and a press, he smoothed it onto each eye evenly, and then straightened up to wipe off the stick. The shirtless man tilted his head to look at it consideringly, and Mustang found himself doing the same.

Suddenly, his heart stopped for a moment in his chest, and a shiver of tingly realization spread down his body. Black hair, black eyes, military uniform, rank of colonel---holy fucking hell, it was _him_! The face even looked like his, the hair exactly matching what he himself had arranged in the mirror that morning. Fullmetal had even copied his goddamn office chair. But why? A statue of him, and Edward—he’d _stripped_ for it, he’s almost _kissed_ it, he’d sat in its _lap_!

As he watched, Ed resumed his dancing, hips rolling hypnotically, always to the lusty beat of the music, smoky eyes locked on the newly onyx ones of the copy. Mustang couldn't help but stare at his ass, so full for a man’s, firm and compact and swaying temptingly around in those tight, hot leather pants.

Edward took the clean stirrer and traced it down over the figure’s chest, down the middle of its waist to pause only briefly at the pants’ fastening before straying lower to slide down the blue fabric of the uniform’s crotch and the imaginary cock beneath.

And holy shit, the Mustang standing in the front garden’s very real cock was now rock-hard.

He started in surprise and clocked his head, which had been pressed against the window, on the wooden outdoor shutter. With a muffled curse, panic surging in his veins, he quickly glanced back into the house. Fortunately, Fullmetal was still oblivious to his presence, now caressing the white, unpainted cheek of the statue with his fingertips.

Staggering back to the walk, breathing hard, he rested gently against the door and tried to get a grip on himself. He glanced down at his little traitor, caught between his usual adoration for the organ and fury at its rebellion. They had a deal: it didn’t stand up in potentially embarrassing situations and he would indulge it on a regular and frequent basis. Still, this was hardly Mustang’s fault. As odd—and boy, was it fucking odd—as what Fullmetal had been doing was, he’d found it… hot. _Really fucking hot_. The way that boy could move his body was beyond sexy.

Wait, since when was _Edward Elric_ of all people added to the _sexy_ category? He’d always known he was good-looking, in the awkward, brutish type of way, but not sexy. He’d never seen him act like that in public. Edward was always confident, but that kind of unrestrained sex appeal almost never came without either lots of practice or a good deal of alcohol. He’d probably seen him half-naked at some point or another, seeing the boy's propensity for taking his shirt off, but Roy had always been thinking about his Automail. He never paid attention to what a _body_ he had.

That line of thought, however, was not at all helping him get his little soldier to stop standing at attention, and though he was dying to go back to the window and see what _else_ Fullmetal might do, he had come there for work and he had to get it done. Besides, his conscience wouldn't let him stay there any longer and spy on what was obviously meant to be private. Making sure that his erection wasn’t too obvious, he straightened himself and, feeling strangely self-conscious, pounded on the door.

The music quieted, and what seemed like far too long a time later, Edward, wearing his tank top again, pulled the door open—though not too far, he noted-- and stared at him in surprise.

“Mustang? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Paperwork,” he grunted back, trying not to check him out too obviously, but it was hard; he wanted to see if those low leather pants were as tight in the front as they were in the back.  “I need you to sign a few things so I can file this before the morning.”

Edward looked at him skeptically, and then pulled his pocket-watch out and flicked it open.

“It IS the morning.”

“I’m not the only one having a late night,” he pointed out. “What are you doing?” His eyes moved past Ed through the doorway, but he saw no sign of the statue.

“What? Nothing, just dicking around. Testing out those dyes.”

“Dyes?” the colonel repeated.

“Yeah, they’re, uh, for these quick-dry paints I’ve been working on. Testing ‘em on plaster right now. Trying to find some more practical solutions than chalk, y’know, for alchemists in emergencies.”

“A worthy goal to be sure,” he said, and pulled the papers out of the envelopes. “If you’ll just sign these I'll let you get back to that.”

Ed made a loud, annoyed sound with his tongue and snatched the papers.

“What a bastard you are. Show up at people’s houses in the middle of the night because you’re too lazy to fill out your paperwork on time.”

“I’ll be sure to make it up to you, since I’m inconveniencing you _so_ much,” he drawled back. He studied Edward’s face as he glanced over the papers. He wanted to see those bright golden eyes lidded in lust again, wanted to be the one sitting in that chair instead of just his effigy.

“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that, useless?”

“I’ll take you out to a nice dinner,” he blurted before asking his brain. Ed stopped and looked up, glancing over him like he’s lost his mind.

“What? Like, just the two of us?” Roy’s mind panicked briefly, but he firmly reminded himself of what he had just witnessed. Although he might not show it, underneath he was the same person who had almost made out with his statue.

“Why, did you want to bring your _blanket_?” he smirked.

Fullmetal’s eyes sharpened and his mouth thinned angrily.

“You want to bring your _walker_ , you old ass?”

Mustang chuckled and took the completed papers back from him.

“I’ll be sure to call ahead to assure we can get a booster seat.”

“Yeah, well make sure they don’t forget your _senior discount_ ,” he spat back, and shoved Roy’s pen at his chest. “Get the fuck outta here, asshole.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Fullmetal.”  
  
The door closed. Mustang stared at it for a few more seconds, until he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and realized Ed was watching him leave through the same window he'd used to watch him dance. He turned and walked as normally as possible back to his car, papers held carefully at his side. As he turned the engine over, he looked back at the silhouette in the window and knew he would see Fullmetal before tomorrow--he would see him in his imagination for a good long time that night. And, he thought with a smile as he pulled away from the house, if dinner went well he hoped to see him in his bed before long.


End file.
